HP: Dragon's Coffin

The first rays of dawn crept through the heavy curtains of the manor, casting soft streaks of light onto the polished floors. Ladon stirred, his face still pressed against the open book on his desk. A faint ache throbbed in his neck from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position, and he groaned quietly as he pushed himself upright. The words on the page of Hogwarts: A History blurred before his bleary eyes, but he ignored them, running a hand through his silver hair as he tried to shake off the remnants of sleep.

Hesper, perched neatly on the edge of his desk, chirped softly, her green eyes glinting with amusement. She stretched, her small wings fluttering briefly before settling back into place. Ladon glared at her, though the irritation in his dragon-like eyes was tempered by the faintest hint of affection.

"You could've woken me," he muttered, closing the book with a dull thud and rubbing his temples.

Hesper yawned in response, her tail flicking lazily as she leapt onto his shoulder, perching there with practiced ease. Ladon sighed, pushing back his chair and standing. "Fine. Let's get this day over with."

In the dining hall, Asclepius was already seated, sipping his tea and reading the Daily Prophet. He looked up briefly as Ladon entered, his sharp silver eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the boy's disheveled appearance.

"You look rested," Asclepius said dryly, folding the newspaper and setting it aside.

"Rested enough," Ladon replied flatly, taking a seat across from him. Hesper hopped down from his shoulder, curling up on the table as though it were her personal throne.

Breakfast appeared before them with a faint shimmer of magic—freshly baked bread, eggs, and a small pitcher of juice. Ladon ate mechanically, his mind already turning to the day's tasks. Asclepius watched him for a moment before breaking the silence.

"Your Occlumency training will continue this morning," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "But I expect more progress today. Yesterday's exercises were elementary. If you're to face minds like Dumbledore's or Snape's, you'll need far more discipline."

Ladon nodded, his expression as stoic as ever. "Understood."

"And after that," Asclepius continued, his voice taking on a sharper edge, "you'll resume your potions work. I trust the Veritaserum you're brewing is progressing as it should?"

"It is," Ladon replied. "Still has weeks to go, but the base is stable."

"Good," Asclepius said, taking another sip of his tea. "The potions will be critical for your plans. And speaking of plans…" He leaned forward slightly, his silver eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint. "You'll need allies at Hogwarts. Connections can be as valuable as magic itself. Choose carefully."

"I'm not interested in allies," Ladon said coolly, setting his fork down. "I'll do what needs to be done on my own."

Asclepius smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. "Even the most powerful wizards have allies, Ladon. Don't let pride blind you."

Ladon didn't respond, his dragon-like eyes narrowing as he stared at his plate. Hesper, sensing the tension, let out a soft purr and nuzzled against his arm, breaking the silence.

Asclepius stood, straightening his long coat as he gestured for Ladon to follow. "Enough talk. To the archives. You've wasted enough time already."

Ladon rose without a word, his stoic mask firmly in place as he trailed after Asclepius. Hesper leapt gracefully onto his shoulder, her tail curling around his neck as they made their way through the manor's labyrinthine halls.

The training that followed was relentless. Asclepius pushed Ladon harder than ever, his mental probes sharper, his challenges more intense. Each failure was met with a cold reprimand, and each success was acknowledged with the faintest nod of approval. By midday, Ladon was drenched in sweat, his dragon-like eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and determination.

But he didn't falter. He couldn't afford to.

When the session finally ended, Asclepius crossed his arms, studying the boy with a critical gaze. "You're improving," he said, his tone neutral. "But we're not there yet. Tomorrow, we'll take it further."

Ladon nodded, his expression unchanging. "I'll be ready."

"See that you are," Asclepius replied, turning and leaving the room. "You're playing a dangerous game, Ladon. And you'll only have one chance to win."

As the door closed behind him, Ladon sank into a chair, his head falling back as he let out a slow breath. Hesper hopped down from his shoulder, curling up in his lap and purring softly.

The room was quiet, the only sounds the soft crackle of a nearby fireplace and the rhythmic purring of Hesper nestled in Ladon's lap. He ran his fingers through her soft fur, his movements absentminded yet steady, as though the act provided him with a faint sense of comfort. His dragon-like eyes stared up at the ceiling, their faint glow dimming as his thoughts drifted.

"You're getting a little too comfortable here," he muttered, his voice flat but tinged with a hint of weariness. "Who said you can sit on my lap, you useless cat?"

Hesper chirped softly, her green eyes half-lidded with contentment. Her small wings fluttered faintly as if to respond, I don't need permission.

Ladon huffed quietly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips before fading almost as quickly as it appeared. He leaned his head back against the chair, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment. The weight of the day, the relentless training, and the ever-present pressure of what lay ahead pressed down on him like a leaden cloak.

Two weeks. That was all he had. Two weeks to master Occlumency, to finalize his preparations, to steel himself for the path he had chosen. Failure wasn't an option—not for him. Not now. Not ever.

His hand stilled on Hesper's fur, and his thoughts shifted, unbidden, to the one person who had always believed in him. The one person he had sworn to avenge.

"Mother…" he whispered, his voice barely audible, yet the word carried the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions. Anger, sorrow, regret—all of it simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to break through the carefully constructed walls he had built around himself.

Hesper's purring softened, and she shifted slightly, her bright green eyes opening to peer up at him. Her gaze held a knowing quality, one that seemed far too perceptive for a simple creature. She nudged his hand with her head, her small, warm body a silent reassurance.

Ladon opened his eyes, the faint glow of his dragon-like gaze returning. He looked down at Hesper, his expression softening for just a moment before the familiar stoicism returned.

"I won't fail her," he said quietly, his voice steady and resolute. "Not her. Not her memory."

Hesper chirped again, as if to agree, before settling back into his lap. The room fell silent once more, the flickering firelight casting dancing shadows across the walls. Ladon sat there for a while longer, his thoughts heavy but his resolve unshaken.

Two weeks. It wasn't much time, but it would have to be enough. It would be enough. For her. For himself. For the legacy he had inherited—and the vengeance he would claim.

====

Asclepius closed Ladon's bedroom door and sighed. He was worried that the boy's anger would consume him one day. He needed help.

He stopped in the long, grand hallway of the Ophiuchus estate, his eyes drawn to the newest portrait on the wall—a regal depiction of Hyacinth, her platinum blonde hair cascading like silk and her piercing black eyes reflecting her wisdom and strength. Like the other heads of the house, her portrait moved, the brushstrokes alive with the essence of who she had been. She turned her head toward him, her expression calm yet tinged with sorrow, as if she had been expecting him.

"He has become bitter after your death, Hyacinth," Asclepius murmured, his silver eyes softening slightly. The weight of the boy's transformation into a cold, calculating force had not gone unnoticed by him. "You should see him before he leaves for Hogwarts. The boy deserves that much."

The woman in the portrait tilted her head slightly, her black eyes meeting his as she stood and floated gracefully out of the frame. Her movements were as fluid and elegant in death as they had been in life. She curtsied low, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "It has been three years since your death," Asclepius continued, his voice firmer now. "Don't you think enough time has passed for you to quit hiding from him?"

Hyacinth's gaze softened further, though a flicker of guilt passed across her features. "I failed him as his mother," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I could have killed those purists, but I didn't. I was too afraid—too worried that using my sorcery would alert our enemies to our presence."

"You protected him the best way you knew how," Asclepius replied, his tone gentler now. "You chose caution over action because you thought it would keep him safe. It was not failure, Hyacinth. It was love."

She shook her head, her hair shimmering like moonlight as she looked away. "And yet, my love wasn't enough. I left him alone. I abandoned him to this cruel world, and now he has hardened himself because of me." Her black eyes glimmered, as though tears might fall, though none came. "What good would it do now to reveal myself to him? He has grown bitter, colder than I ever wished for him to be. What would he say if he saw me?"

"He would ask you why you hid," Asclepius said plainly, his silver eyes meeting hers without hesitation. "And perhaps he would be angry. Perhaps he would blame you. But he would also find solace in knowing you still care. He would not admit it, but the boy aches for you, Hyacinth. Even now, in his stoicism, he whispers your name when he thinks no one can hear."

Hyacinth placed a hand over her heart, the expression on her face a mixture of pain and hope. "Does he truly…?"

"He does," Asclepius said firmly. "But the choice is yours. If you continue to hide, Ladon will go to Hogwarts carrying the weight of your death as a wound that never heals. If you reveal yourself, even briefly, you may give him the strength to carry on."

The ghost was silent for a long moment, her gaze distant as though lost in thought. Finally, she nodded, her smile returning, though it was faint and fragile. "I will see him," she said. "Before he leaves, I will find the courage to face him."

Asclepius inclined his head, a rare expression of approval crossing his features. "Good. The boy needs his mother, Hyacinth—even if it is only for a fleeting moment."

She gave him one last glance before returning to her portrait, her image once again merging seamlessly with the painted canvas. Asclepius lingered for a moment longer, his eyes scanning the rows of portraits lining the hallway. Each one held the essence of a life lived, battles fought, legacies left behind.

"Perhaps he will find his own way," Asclepius murmured, turning away and continuing down the hall. "But he should not walk this path alone. Not yet."

====

The following days passed in a blur of relentless training and quiet contemplation. Each morning, Ladon rose before the sun, prepared for the rigorous mental battles that awaited him in the manor archives. His Occlumency lessons, once exhausting trials, were quickly becoming routine. Each session grew more intense, yet Ladon met every challenge with the same calm determination that had come to define him.

Asclepius had to admit—the boy was extraordinary.

In the dimly lit archives, Asclepius paced slowly, his silver eyes never leaving Ladon, who sat cross-legged on the floor. Hesper lay curled nearby, her wings folded neatly as she dozed, though her ears twitched now and then as if she were still listening.

"Clear your mind," Asclepius instructed, his voice even but commanding. "Do not think—feel. Let your defenses rise as naturally as breathing."

Ladon exhaled slowly, his eyelids lowering as he focused inward. His mental walls, once patchy and brittle, were now smooth and seamless, like fortress gates of unbreakable steel.

Asclepius raised his wand, murmuring the spell. "Legilimens."

The familiar rush came—images and memories flashing in an attempt to disorient Ladon: his mother's laughter in the garden, the agonizing loss that followed, the searing pain of betrayal. But this time, Ladon didn't waver. The memories shifted and blurred before dissipating entirely, like smoke blown away by a steady wind. Asclepius pressed harder, but Ladon's mind remained calm and impenetrable.

The spell broke, and Asclepius stepped back, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing his face. Ladon opened his eyes, their dragon-like glow calm and steady.

"You've improved," Asclepius said, a rare note of approval in his voice. "Your mind is no longer a fortress under siege—it is a fortress the enemy cannot even find."

Ladon stood, brushing off his robes. "It's not enough," he said, his voice monotone but resolute. "It needs to be instinctive. I can't rely on preparation alone."

Asclepius's lips curved in a faint smirk. "You're beginning to understand. Occlumency isn't just a defense—it's a way of being." He stepped closer, his silver eyes narrowing. "But remember, Ladon, it isn't always about blocking. Sometimes, subtlety is your greatest weapon. Sometimes… you must allow them to see what you want them to see."

Ladon nodded, absorbing the words. "Understood."

Asclepius studied him for a long moment, his mind turning over what he had just witnessed. The boy's growth was astonishing—and dangerous. Few adults could match Ladon's progress, let alone surpass it. But with great power came risk.

"Tomorrow," Asclepius said, stepping back. "We will begin the next phase."

"The next phase?" Ladon asked, though there was no fear in his voice—only curiosity.

"Mastering false memories," Asclepius explained. "An Occlumens's greatest trick. You will learn to craft a web of truths and lies so convincing that even the most skilled Legilimens will be deceived. If you master this, Ladon, your mind will become a labyrinth no one can escape."

Ladon's dragon-like eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light. "I'm ready."

Asclepius nodded slowly. "Then rest tonight. You've earned it." His gaze softened briefly, the shadow of concern flitting across his expression. "But don't forget, Ladon… your mind may be unbreakable, but your heart is not. Keep that in mind when you face those who would try to use it against you."

Ladon's face remained stoic, though a flicker of something—grief, or perhaps resolve—crossed his eyes. He turned toward the door, Hesper fluttering up to his shoulder with a soft chirp.

"Goodnight," Ladon said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Asclepius watched him go, a rare moment of pride—and worry—settling in his chest. The boy was strong. Perhaps too strong. But for now, there was no time for doubt. The heir of Ophiuchus was readying himself for war, and Asclepius could only hope he was strong enough to carry the responsibilities that having such power brings.

"Master... is this enough? Is he truly the one you told me about?"